I didn't think to take a picture of it on the day we left. Instead, I packed it away and found a sock to work on in the car. There's always a sock to work on. We arrived in Swarthmore on a Friday. By Saturday, we were pretty grouchy with each other and the situation. So Dave suggested that I go exploring and find the yarn shop. Clever boy. And work on the shawl recommenced.
Here are the stages of getting it ready for delivery to its intended recipient:
First, the unblocked mess. I always despair at this point. This lace, I am sure, will be the one that doesn't respond to blocking. This lace will look like the dog's breakfast for as long as it lives, I just know. I will, finally, be revealed as the knitting fraud I am.
A close-up view, so you can fully appreciate the horror:
Well, I suppose I can't make it worse, so a-blockin'-we-go. Into the bath tub with your sad self. Imagine, if you will, how the bathroom now smells like sheep. Lovely.
I didn't have my blocking wires, so I threaded waste yarn through the border and pinned to that. It worked ok, but that's the purple strand that you can see at the edge of the shawl. That got thrown away, I promise. Here's the more or less finished product, drying in my furniture-free living room (I didn't think Dave would be wildly sympathetic if I pinned it to our bed, and we had to sleep on the floor. Knitters might understand. Mathematicians... not so much):
Apparently, the knitting goddesses smiled on me once more. The knitting rules still apply, and blocking cures all ills. The shawl has been delivered to my sister, with good wishes and hope that it warms her during her upcoming medical travails. Naturally, we forgot to take a picture of her wearing the shawl. I'll see if I can fix that the next time I see her.